They came for him about half an hour after the lights had been put out. It was still light enough to see a little and it looked like the whole of the dorm, with Poole and Scully in the lead. Davey put up a fight, but not too seriously. This was something he had to go through as bravely as he could.
He was pinioned to the bed, arms and legs spread wide; his trousers were ripped off him, leaving his genitals exposed and helpless. Someones hand over his mouth stopped him crying out as he felt his penis gripped and then someones fingers pawing his testicles. Expecting it to be dubbin, he was surprised when someone pulled at his pubic hair and then he felt the cold metal and heard the sound of a pair of scissors and he felt his hair come away.
Then he did fight, but it was no good. Poole was sitting on his stomach and his limbs were firmly held. Three or four more times the scissors sliced and he was losing the blond bush he had barely got used to having. Then something wet started caressing his balls, his prick, the base of his belly. For a second he thought it was ink, but then he realised.
Now hold still, said Pooles voice, or Ill cut your bollocks off.
He gave one wrench against the restraining hands, but to no avail. Carefully, holding Daveys stubby uncircumcised _c_o_c_k_ out of the way, Poole worked with the razor till all the blond fuzz was gone and Davey was as smooth-groined as a ten-year-old.
Then came the dubbin. A good three finger dollop that Scully massaged into his scrotum, working it deep into the skin; then massaging his prick till it rose into a splendid erection, coated with brown, waxy goo.
Poole climbed off him. Happy birthday, someone growled in his ear and everyone laughed.
But they hadnt finished yet. Feet back over his head, lads, said Dorneys voice. Davey found himself folded over and held in this new position with his legs still wrenched wide apart, but now with his backside uppermost. Good idea of Madmans, wasnt it? Dorney said. Fourteen whacks for your fourteenth birthday. And with the same a crack echoed round the dorm and Daveys bottom exploded in fiery pain.
His ability to fight them was almost gone as he realised what new torment they had for him. It was the smacker, filched from the gym, and now lashed down full force on his bare bum.
Whos next? said Dorney. There was a whispered chorus of mes. Davey didnt know who took it. But then the hard wooden blade slapped into him, and it didnt matter who had it. They took it in turns, a whack each, and none of them went easy on him. It was as though his buttocks were turned to molten metal as the fire raged through the tensed muscles. He wanted to yell, but what was left of his pride wouldnt let him, and anyway the hand was still over his mouth. Nine boys – nine solid whacks and his bottom felt as though it would never stop hurting.
And then Dorney had the smacker again. Five to go, he said. Hold him tight, lads. He stood back, launched himself into the blow, which landed full across Daveys meaty little buttocks, and Davey only controlled his yell through gritted teeth. He tried to anticipate the next and brace himself, but several boys wanted to feel the heat coming off him and then Dorney made him wait. But it came at last, another impossible explosion of fire, forcing another spluttering cry of agony from his mouth.
The lights crashed on and every boy froze. Patterson, the head prefect, was on duty. He had been prepared to tolerate a certain amount of ragging, since the word was out that it was a boys birthday, but hearing the sounds of someone being whacked he felt obliged to investigate.
He took in the tableau: Davey pinned down and clearly the victim. Dorney holding what looked like Madmans smacker, not even trying to hide it, so obviously caught in the act. For what seemed like many seconds, no-one moved. Then some boys on the fringes – Hendy maybe, Pottrell, he couldnt be sure – moved for their beds.
Everyone stand by their beds, he ordered. Davey was released and stood, his pyjama jacket not covering his embarrassment, not knowing whether to hide his obviously dubbined genitals or his dark red backside. The others went back to their own beds and stood watching Patterson for the next move.
Where are your trousers, Davey? he asked.
Dont know, Patterson, the boy said, and had to smother a laugh. Obviously not too badly damaged, then.
Here, said Lawson and threw them from where they had landed beside his bed.
Put them on.
Davey caught them but didnt dare put them on yet.
Dorney. Patterson turned to the most incriminated boy. Cut away to my study and fetch my cane.
Patterson was the head prefect, allowed to beat with a cane. Every boys heart gave a lurch at the thought of what was coming. Dorney left on his extremely unwelcome errand. Patterson wasnt sure yet what he was going to do, but it needed dealing with and quickly.
Davey – shower. Clean yourself up. Davey headed for the door and as he did so Patterson stepped further into the dorm and, as luck would have it, kicked the shaving soap and brush where they had fallen between two beds. Every boy saw that he had seen them, knew what was going to ensue. Davey stopped also, suddenly anxious that a prefect shouldnt know about this part of his shame – if thats what it was. Go on, Davey. Get into a shower.
Patterson waited for Davey to be gone.
Has that boy been shaved? he demanded. Silence. Tell me, (and his anger was palpable) has – he – been – shaved?
Yes, Patterson. It was Poole.
You did it?
Yes, Patterson.
And his balls blacked?
That was me. Scully.
And Dorney smacked his arse.
We all did, offered Lawson.
I see.
Down in the washroom, Davey stood under a shower soaping his genitals over and over. Being waterproof, the dubbin wouldnt wash off easily, but his skin began to feel less waxy and sticky, and the water was definitely soothing to his stinging bottom. He felt no resentment about what had been done to him. He had done the same sort of thing to several other boys so had no right to feel hard done by now. The shaving was slightly different. But they had discussed it, and hed have done the same in their position.
Nor did he blame them for the smacker – that was Madmans fault, for not smacking him properly in the lesson. His bottom still felt as though it was on fire, but it wasnt unpleasant any longer, and if that was what corporal punishment was like he really had nothing to fear from it. He would try to get himself beaten in the near future. There was nothing different about him, after all. He had just been lucky.
As he dried himself he heard the sound of Pattersons gymshoe slapping his dorm-mates backsides. When he arrived back in the dorm, Lawson was stretched over the end of a bed and Patterson was laying into him with the huge Green Flash gymshoe that was his trademark. When Lawson was ordered up he rubbed furiously at himself. Poole, Dorney and Scully were naked. The cane lay on another bed, ready for use. Davey crept back to his own bedside, hoping that no-one much noticed.
Lawson had obviously been the last one to get the slipper, because Patterson now dropped it on the bed and picked up the cane. He bent it ominously between his fists.
Before I thrash your arses, you three, I want your bollocks shaved and dubbined the way you did Daveys.
There was a shocked gasp from some of the boys. And then, before the three could make any move to obey, Davey heard himself call out, No. Thats not fair.
I beg your pardon, said Patterson, turning to him.
Its not right to make them do that. Its not a proper punishment. Itd be much worse than what they did to me. And anyway, its Pooles birthday next month and if he shaves it off now there wont be anything for me to shave off him then.
There was a spurt of shocked laughter at Daveys boldness from most boys, and from Patterson himself.
Anything else youd like to say? said Patterson, grinning now.
In for a penny, Davey thought. Yes. They shouldnt get the cane with nothing on. It wasnt that serious what they did.
Patterson considered. All right. Dorney and Scully, trousers back on. Shaving is different. And – he turned to Davey and pointed at him with the cane – if I catch you shaving anyones bollocks Ill cane your bare arse too. Over the bed, Dorney, please.
Dorney rapidly hauled up his pyjama trousers, tied the string and came to the bed. Without any argument or protest he lowered himself over the bedrail, offering his bottom for punishment. Patterson smoothed the cloth over Dorneys compact but solid posteriors, stepped back, taking aim with the cane, and began the thrashing. It was well known that pyjamas offered only minimal protection – which is why beatings were so often given just before lights out – and the smacker had left the boys backsides tender, even if it had left no serious marks. Dorney yelped as the first stroke sliced into him; then he took one or two strokes in more or less silence, but then the building pain became too much and he yelled aloud for the last three. It was a full six.
Then Scully took Dorneys place. Taller and slimmer than Dorney, his buttocks still offered a good target and Patterson did his duty with a full swing of his arm, putting the full weight of his upper body behind each stroke. Scully too was bellowing before the sixth stroke lashed into him. Both caned boys stood by their beds, rubbing strenuously at their intolerably stinging backsides.
Then Poole had to be whipped. Seeing a boy beaten with nothing on was a rare event, but far from unheard of. Three of those watching knew what it was like. No-one, however, knew that Poole had been chastised this way dozens of times. They did know, though, that Patterson had caned his bare bottom once before, and he had also suffered at the hands of the headmaster.
Poole was a swarthy boy whose olive skin had earned him the nickname of Nigger. He came to the bed and lowered himself over it, trying to appear unconcerned. Davey wasnt the only boy who flinched as the cane struck home. Almost instantly a dark weal appeared across both buttocks. Pooles body jerked but there was no other reaction from him. Not till the fourth terrible stroke lashed into him did he make any sound apart from a sharp gasp. The last two did make him call out, but not loudly. All six strokes were across the lower half of his bottom, absolutely parallel and almost touching. When Patterson allowed him to stand up his hands went to the seat of the pain and his face registered just how dreadful the pain must be. He was almost limping as he walked back to his own bed.
With the lights out once more, Davey lay on his side in bed, alternately fingering his still waxy _c_o_c_k_ and balls and caressing the heat left in his backside by the smacker. He was surprised by how quickly the initial stinging fire had died down, leaving only this burning that wasnt really unpleasant. Every boy in the dorm must be feeling something like this, after Pattersons gymshoe. He wondered how his friends were feeling after the cane. Had the pain faded as quickly from them? And what about Poole? Six on the naked arse must be – well, he couldnt imagine it. And to get it with everyone watching like that.
Silently he slipped out of bed and padded across to Pooles bed and knelt by his friends head. Poole was lying on his belly and his hands were on his bottom.
Are you all right? Davey asked.
Yes, Poole whispered.
Hows your arse?
Sore. Have a feel. He lifted the blanket and Davey slid his hand down inside. Poole was wearing no pyjamas. The weals across his buttocks were like ropes under the skin and they glowed like the bars of an electric fire.
_f_u_c_k_ing hell, said Davey.
Dont worry. It wasnt so bad.
But Im sorry you got caught.
Its all right. Im sorry we did you so much.
Wait till its your birthday, you cunt. And both boys giggled.
Four days later, on the Sunday afternoon walk, the talk turned to the whackings they had received. They were in the old barn where they sometimes played if they were confident that no prefects would come that way. The barn was out of bounds.
But what does the cane feel like? Davey asked.
What dyou mean? What does it feel like? The same as it always does, said Scully.
Yes, but hows that?
Are you saying youve never had it? demanded Poole.
Never. I always seem to have got away with it.
But what about that time about eight of us got it from Patterson?
I wasnt there that time.
Well, _f_u_c_k_ me, said Poole, and that seemed to sum it up.
Your arse must be soft as _s_h_i_t_, said Dorney. And they all laughed.
So how many times have you all been caned?
Loads, said Poole.
When was the first time?